Mary Jane's Shoes

Musings of one person among many. Not exceptional in any way, as with all, I have exceptional experiences and varied reactions to those events. Mine is one of many life stories and how I manage and cope with the events which make my life my own, I attempt to put forth by way of my writings.

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Reaction

Betrayal comes in forms numbering more than the leaves on the magnolia tree. From one single person to another, from a mass of people towards another mass, betrayal is sometimes hurtfully chosen in the social circumstance we inhabit. Be it secrets guarded of one from another or the turn of a government against its people, wrongdoing and betrayal exist here and such can be crushing to the recipients. Regardless of the messenger and the method of delivery, the message itself is shocking once revealed and moves swiftly to affect the stance of masses or the lone figure’s stance. Degradation and a melting of form and ideas the first moments find.

The realization of deceit and betrayal is heavy and draining, drawing every muscle to the floor as if the ground is comfort, or perhaps said floor is merely blocking one from seeping into the abyss. The collective muscle of a people sink just as a single soul. One can fall no further. The body, the mind must begin to cope, as must the heart. If the drop could continue on into the earth, I, as others betrayed, would be swallowed by it gladly, as alongside myself the betrayer’s gifts would as well be swallowed.

Yet there exists resilience.

The earth we inhabit, its surface transforms betrayal into promising new growth. Atoms move to create this new. A seed sprouts and green freshness opens towards the light and water, to feast on life giving sun’s rays and rain showers. Ideas are planted and shared. The gathering souls see the first seeds of ideas grow into fields of healthy thought. The masses rebuild and the single soul reaches through soil for water on which to drink.

Is this why one sinks from a standing posture to the posture of a dead leaf, in the hope of being dirt shoveled and covered? Is the fall to rid one’s self of the face and feel of betrayal? Is it to perhaps turn a sprouting newness towards the sun, reaching for a chance at a calm, gentle rightness again?

Rising from the floor is a feat of great strength as the entirety of one’s being weighs so much more than it did in the mere moments just prior to experiencing the shock. This rise brings a new person, brings a slow birth of collective ideas, shaped by transgressions but also by hope and promise. The promise of what? That is a search for the growing field and the single blade of grass.